


Workplace Hazards

by sodamnrad



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adult Hermione Granger, Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Auror Harry Potter, BAMF Hermione Granger, F/M, Fluff, Hermione Granger is a Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy Fluff, Married Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Minister for Magic Hermione Granger, POV Draco Malfoy, Possessive Draco Malfoy, Protective Draco Malfoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 00:40:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29833389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sodamnrad/pseuds/sodamnrad
Summary: “Do you shower all of the married witches at your office with gifts or just mine?” Two weeks ago it was flowers, the week before that a box of Cauldron Cakes.If looks could kill, Draco would’ve been flat on his back. “Are friends not allowed to be thoughtful?” He pauses, tilting his head to the side. “Or, am I making you look bad?”---Hermione Jean Malfoy has a stalker.One Shot | Draco POV | Married Dramione
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 13
Kudos: 252





	Workplace Hazards

**Author's Note:**

> Lil something that I wrote for fun. Enjoy!

His hand rests on her lower back, gliding down the satin to cup her round bottom. “Promise we leave before midnight?”

She shoots him a derisive look, raising his wrist to a more decorous spot.

“Blame the fabric, love. It’s simply too easy to slip.” His hand drops once more.

“Draco,” she growls, “Enough. We’re about to be seen.” 

“You didn’t answer my question.” He adjusts the cheeky position of his hand to calm her nerves. Honestly, he should have been the celebrity, if only to take this additional stress out of her life.

Besides, he is fabulously photogenic.

“Yes, yes we’ll pull a Cinderella and leave our glass slipper behind before the final toll of the midnight clock.”

He is thoroughly confused. “Who?”

She smirks. “Remind me to get you a Brothers Grimm storybook later.”

He leans in, catching a whiff of her sweet vanilla fragrance, his lips brush the shell of her ear as he murmurs, “Maybe you can read me a bedtime story later, with those wicked legs wrapped around my—,” he lowers his voice to the faintest hiss of a whisper.

A delightful blush spreads up her neck, matching the crisp shade of her lipstick.

Thirty seconds of freedom is all they are granted before Hermione is surrounded. She schools her features, curbs the red on her cheeks with an elongated exhale, and plasters on a professional smile.

“I’ll be back.” He brushes a kiss against her temple and slips away.

Draco fetches two drinks from the bar as Hermione flits from one conversation to the next, insistent on speaking to everyone with a pulse. Hermione never does anything by halves and her sole mission has been this coming election. 

“You bought me a drink? Such a good friend you are.” Theo appears at his side and swipes Hermione’s martini from his hand.

Draco shoots him a dry look. “It wasn’t for you.”

Theo spears an olive into his mouth. “I see you’ve been shelved in the Used Books section again.” His eyes follow Hermione’s silver-clad figure as she shakes hands with an elderly couple.

“You’re a menace, Nott.”

He chuckles, tipping the glass against his lips. “Don’t I know how it feels.” His eyes shoot straight to his husband across the room. Neville is engaged in an animated discussion with McGonagall and Slughorn. “Likely discussing the pH levels of Hogwarts’ soil.”

Draco snorts. “That’s what we get for hitching our wagons to a pair of Gryffindors. Forget even a speck of attention when there are masses to please.”

“That’s a you-problem, Drake,” Theo says, “Granger is the only one required to please masses. Nev just has an unhealthy obsession with botanicals. You should see our greenhouse. It was weeping the other day. Nev nearly hexed my testicles, said I overwatered the plants.”

Hermione’s neck cranes, searching the room.

“As fascinated as I am about the state of your testicles, go fetch me another drink,” Draco says, “I’ll be back.”

He closes the gap between himself and his wife before she is pulled into another inept conversation. “Alright?”

“Thank Merlin.” She snatches his drink and takes a hard sip. “Needed that. By the way, I prefer gin over vodka.”

He rolls his eyes. “I know, that was my drink. Theo took yours.”

“Oh.” She looks at the glass sheepishly, doesn’t give it back. “It’s alright, vodka will do for now. Where is that endearing chap anyhow?”

“I’m certain he’ll find you shortly and talk your ear off about his latest invention.”

“A new invention! What is it this time?” Her eyes are glowing.

He sighs. “I don’t know if he has a new invention. I was just saying that.” Her necklace has flipped so that the diamond is hidden. He turns it over, fingers purposely lingering on the warm skin of her clavicle.

While her satin dress is perfectly political in its modesty, she is a vision in soft silver and glittering jewels from the family vault. Her curls are pulled out of her face into a tidy knot that his fingers are itching to undo. Later– when that Cinderella person appears with a shoe.

That adoring look in her eyes always pulls him back when he’s feeling left out.

He opens his mouth with a very cheeky remark on the tip of his tongue but is interrupted by— “Hermione, you’re an absolute vision.”

It takes her a moment to tear her gaze away. He can still hog her attention in a room full of people. She smiles at the newcomer. “Hello, Jake.”

Draco’s jubilant mood sinks. “Still in London, I see.”

“Oh, I have no intention of returning anytime soon,” he replies in that irritating American accent. His eyes return to Hermione’s immediately. “You must save me a dance.”

He is about to say that she _mustn’t_ do any such thing, but she speaks first, “Certainly.”

The git’s eyes sparkle, and trudge so slowly down her figure that Draco’s arm curves around her waist.

Jake Bradley’s lips pinch tight.

Hermione’s fingers tiptoe up his spine, relaxing him. He focuses on the shape of her thigh pressed against his leg. When they return home, _he_ will be the one stripping the dress from those glorious curves.

Bradley asks, “Did you like the cookies I left on your desk?”

The tension in his shoulders returns. “Do you shower all of the married witches at your office with gifts or just mine?” Two weeks ago it was flowers, the week before that a box of Cauldron Cakes.

If looks could kill, Draco would’ve been flat on his back. “Are friends not allowed to be thoughtful?” He pauses, tilting his head to the side. “Or, am I making you look bad?”

That arrogant piece of—

Hermione’s surprisingly firm grasp of his bicep prevents him from making a scene. “Don’t talk to him that way.” Her voice is no-nonsense as she shoots her colleague a hard look.

The man flushes. “My apologies. You were having a rough week I thought it would make you smile.”

Her features soften. “I appreciate the thought, and yes I did like them. Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome.”

Draco spots Theo snagging a two-bite pumpkin pastie from a floating tray. “Our friend is waving us over.” He doesn’t wait for a response as he leads her away. In a low voice he says, “You’re not dancing with him.”

“That would be impolite,” she says.

“Screw social decorum. The wanker’s a creep, he’s not touching you.”

“Have you ever considered that you’re a wee bit possessive?” There’s a smile in her voice. They dodge a group of Ministry workers, deep in their cups and howling with laughter. Draco’s arm lifts to her shoulder, adjusting her stance to keep one of the staggering men from bumping into her.

“We know I’m possessive, Granger,” he says shamelessly, “but anyone would be weary of that git. Have you seen the way he looks at you?”

She forces them to a stop. Her head tilts back to meet his gaze, a softness in her eyes that is only ever his. When they look at each other that way, the rest of the world ceases to exist. “I love you, Draco.” She caresses his cheek with a warm palm. “Only you, always. Don’t worry about Jake. He means absolutely nothing.”

*

Potter taps his fist on the green felt twice. To his left, Theo slides two stacked chips forward.

Draco smirks, and raises the bet. 

Zabini is dealing and watches on steadily. Macmillan glares at Draco and folds, huffing back against his seat with crossed arms.

Someone has invited the American and he matches Draco’s bet with a challenging grin. Draco’s lip curls. 

River round. 

Potter folds, brushing a hand through his hair and revealing the infamous scar for a flicker of a second.

Theo checks but when Draco bets, he folds with a half-hearted pout.

Jake says, “All in.”

They are the final two remaining.

Draco concedes, “All in.” He pushes his chips to the centre of the table.

The stakes are high, the ante alone was two hundred galleons a player. Where this Jake Bradley has the fortune to blow on a friendly game of Texas hold’em with that Ministry job is beyond him. The rest of the table is primarily inheritance money. Which is why they like to play together— low stakes are a bore.

“Care to make it interesting, Draco?” Jake leans back in his seat, a taunting grin across his snarky face.

Draco couldn’t possibly hex every pathetic fanboy that lusts over Hermione. She’s in line to be the youngest Minister for Magic in history, of course she has admirers. But his hostile feelings towards Jake Bradley run deeper than possessive jealousy.

Theo says, “I reckon there’s over three thousand galleons in that pile, not interesting enough for you, Mr. Bradley?”

“Oh, I certainly love money as much as the rest of you fine gentlemen.” He takes a steady sip of his scotch. “But there’s something I like better.”

Zabini snorts. “Better than galleons? Do tell.” 

He meets Draco’s eye across the table. “You have something I want, Mr. Malfoy. Let’s make this wager interesting, entertain the boys a little longer.”

Next to him, Theo sparks a light for the fat cigar between his lips. The sweet smoke billows through the cool air.

“Go on.”

“If I win, I want one evening with your wife. Ever had a ménage à trois?”

Beside him, Theo’s chair squeaks. A steady hand lands on his forearm.

The murder in Draco’s eyes is foolishly ignored. “Or better yet— many men have a cuckolding fetish. How about you watch while I pound that sweet ass—

Bradley’s chair flies across the room.

The wall fissures from the impact as he plummets onto his arse. The chair shatters into wooden splinters. Draco’s gaze has tunnel-visioned. He stands. White noise whooshes through his eardrums.

His wand is drawn, but he relishes in the physicality of crushing Bradley’s throat with his bare hand. He lifts the man to the toes of his shoes. Bradley scrabbles for freedom but Draco is relentless.

He leans so close that one might think he’s about to kiss the pathetic bloke. He says in a near whisper, “You _dare_ speak about my wife?”

Redness creeps across Bradley’s face at an alarming rate. His eyes bulge, looking wild and mad. He claws at Draco’s bruising hand, but Draco’s fury is ice cold and his grip is unyielding.

He squeezes harder, watches with satisfaction as the bastard’s features morph from red to blue. Only when his tongue starts to stick out does Draco release, dropping the imbecile in an unglamorous heap over the broken furniture.

Bradley’s hands fly to his neck, gasping and sputtering for air.

“I’d tread very carefully if I were you,” Draco doesn’t raise his voice. He rolls up his sleeve, revealing the Dark Mark. “You see this? I’m not proud of it. But it has taught me a few tricks— and I’m not afraid to use them on insolent maggots that make passes at my wife."

The rest of the room is dead silent. Not even Potter has tried to interfere. There are some things you allow a man to take care of personally.

On his way out, Draco reveals his cards. Straight flush. “Got better, you mouthy prick?”

Bradley looks away, coughing.

“Transfer the winnings at your convenience, Blaise.” Draco slides into his tailored jacket and departs without a backwards glance.

*

Hermione isn’t home when he returns. It’s always a wild guess which one of them will leave the office first. However, Friday nights are exclusively theirs and Draco’s disappointed that she has pushed it so far. They’ll be late for dinner. 

When he enters the bedroom, he smells her perfume.

It’s so potent that he’s certain it has been spritzed recently. She has a perfume for evenings and one for the daytime. The air is rich with Hermione after dark. The creamy vanilla, sweet praline, and hint of iris flower remind him of starry nights and hot skin.

“Hermione?” He calls out, wondering if he was wrong about her absence.

No response. He calls her name down the corridor, but nothing.

Where has that witch gone to?

He is about to hop into the shower when he notices an envelope on the dresser. Elegant black ink over heavy parchment paper. Frivolous, thoughtful, and— very him. Even the handwriting is similar to his penmanship.

A thumping noise booms in his ears, and a little vein on his neck begins to pulse.

**_My love,_ **

**_Meet me at The Ritz, 318. Wear red._ **

**_Your husband,_ **

**_DM_ **

Draco never told her about the poker night incident. He’s a bloody fool.

The prick has had an unhealthy obsession with her for some time and he let it go on too long.

If anything happens to her, it will be entirely his fault.

He apparates.

It takes only a simple _alohomora_ to unlock the door to the suite. The cocky son of a bitch didn’t even attempt to add extra wards. He listens carefully, and hears nothing.

Halfway to the bedroom door a familiar moan resounds.

He watches himself snog Hermione.

Her head is tilted, loose curls brushing her lower back how he likes it. She is in a short, red dress— the type that she reserves exclusively for him. His hand is squeezing her arse, the other holding the back of her head. He drinks her like a thirsty man encountering a cool, gushing stream.

He is about to hex Bradley to his certain death when his trembling arm is grabbed. A mighty force yanks him into the sitting room.

“Hermione?”

This version of his wife is wearing a black pantsuit and sensible oxfords. She presses a finger against her lip and shakes her head. Behind her, Potter is standing in full Auror uniform.

Hermione mouths _after_ and makes a motion to the other room with her index finger.

He doesn’t care. His arms come around her, and he buries his face into the top of her head.

He could kiss Potter.

She looks up at him, grinning sweetly. _Hi_ , she mouths.

He soaks in the sight of her. Every detail of the singular face that he has memorised by sight and taste. Refusing to wait another moment, he kisses her deeply. She melts into him as she always does.

This is his Hermione.

Behind them, Potter clears his throat mutedly. But it’s loud enough for Hermione to pull away. Her cheeks glow cherry red. Draco brushes the back of his fingers against the hot skin.

A voice from the other room emerges, “Jake Bradley, you are under arrest for sexual assault, misuse of Polyjuice Potion for the purpose of identity theft—

On cue, Potter leaves the room.

Draco runs his hands down her arms, assuming it is safe to speak. “Are you alright?”

She is smiling. “I’m perfectly fine. Are _you_ alright? You seem paler than usual.”

He doesn’t reprimand her for the pale joke. “A head’s up would’ve been nice. I thought you were getting raped!”

She winces. “I’m so sorry, Draco. Harry made me keep it from you. He thought you would blow the operation if you found out. And— I agreed. I know how you get when my safety’s involved and I didn’t want you to act out of anger. We wanted to nail him properly.” 

“You left his bloody note on the dresser.” How did his so-called-brilliant wife forget that little snippet?

“About that…” She sits on the couch, an odd look in her eyes. “I found it there and knew immediately it wasn’t you. You’d never start a letter with _my love_.” She rolls her eyes, despite the overall paleness of her skin. He sits next to her and takes her hand. “You’d never sign a letter to me as _DM_ , you’d never book a suite that was smaller than an executive, and you would most certainly never request I wear red.”

He bites back a grin. He supposes she knows him a little…

“I knew immediately that the note wasn’t from you. It was on _the dresser_ , Draco.” She shivers. “He got into our home. Harry told me to leave everything as I found it for evidence.”

The bastard is lucky they have already escorted him out of the room. “I’ll fortify the wards.” He is shaking. “I reckon he must have been there before if he Polyjuiced himself into me. Unless he managed to swipe something at poker night.” 

“Speaking of keeping things from one another, why didn’t you tell me what happened? I had to hear it from Harry. Draco, I need to know about these things. I worked with the man for Merlin’s sake!”

He sighs deeply. “I know. I thought it would cause you stress and I was certain I could take care of him myself. I’m sorry.”

“Thankfully, I’ve been keeping an eye on him for some time.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he demands. “I need to know about these things too, Hermione. You’re my wife for crying out loud. I need to know if you’re being stalked by some sick bastard.” 

“I suppose I was trying to save you the stress, also. I saw the way you acted around him. But you’re right, I should’ve told you. I’m sorry, too.” She entwines her fingers through his and stares at their joined hands. His wedding band glimmers between the tips of her fingers. “No more secrets.”

“Deal.” He kisses her forehead.

“I suppose this is only a taste of what’s to come were I to become Minister,” she says in a small voice.

He slumps against the backrest of the sofa, bringing her with him so that she is resting on his chest. “Well, you are a celebrity in your own right. Not to mention that you’d be the youngest Minister of all time, which will attract more press. And, you’re beautiful. A triple threat.” He squeezes her tightly. “But you also have me. And we’re a frightful duo. Not the best at what we do for nothing, yeah? We’ll figure it out.” 

Her cheek nuzzles against the soft fabric of his work shirt. “I’m so lucky to have you.”

He presses a kiss on top of her curls. “Always, Granger. I love you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Would love to hear your thoughts if you have any, I'm practicing the art of the short story.
> 
> Look me up on all the different platforms [here](https://linktr.ee/sodamnrad)
> 
> Thank you for reading
> 
> x
> 
> S


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